


Of Sinister Shadows

by TheStoryTellingGuy



Category: Hellsing
Genre: Blood and Gore, Canon Related, Gen, Out of Order, Vampire Hunters, Vampires, some M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:07:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24208699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheStoryTellingGuy/pseuds/TheStoryTellingGuy
Summary: In the wake of its destruction, the Monster leaves behind a trail of tears. Those of its victims and its own. No one questions the source of the Monster's sorrow. They instead seek to destroy it. And all the while the Monster weeps; left betrayed and alone by the very thing it swore to safeguard.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Of Sinister Shadows

The church stood like a dark fortress against the night. The moon’s rays were unable to pierce the blanket of clouds, leaving it enshrouded in darkness. The wind whistled throughout the chapel’s stone peaks, threatening to topple several of the wooden crosses that lined its roof. But this wind was also cold and heavy. A sign for the coming approach of winter. A time of death.

Save for a single candle, the entirety of the church’s interior was kept in pitch blackness. What little could be seen, however, gave evidence to an impressive congregation. The pews and stone floors were well worn with activity, even shimmering with a reflective quality from the flickering wick. Leather-bound books of hymns were placed in every other row, their covers stained from overuse.

And in that candle’s light, a priest kneeled at the alter, head bowed in prayer. He wore a simple night garb of cloth and held a rosary tightly clasped in his hands. His mouth moved as the sacred literatures came from his memory. It seemed as though he had been there for hours, as his fingers had grown red from the pressure. The creaking of the door ripped him from his invocations.

“Who goes there?” the priest cried out, shakily rising from his position of worship.

The only answer that came back was the sound of approaching footsteps. The priest’s breathing began to quicken. He gave a rushed sign of the cross, offering up a prayer for his safety. Without warning, the footsteps stopped. Whoever it was, they had halted just outside the candle’s light. Only the tips of their boots could be seen clearly, the rest lost in shadow. Once more, the priest asked who the man was.

Clearing his throat, the man replied, asking, “Are you Father Oswald?”

Swallowing, Oswald tried to steel his nerves, hoping he didn’t come across as fearful as he imagined he did. “Yes, I am,” he said, slowly reaching for the candle, “And who, may I question, is asking for me?”

Quicker than any human could move, the man lashed out at Father Oswald. Pain. Burning hot pain ran through his body. Stumbling over, Oswald fell to the ground, dragging a pew down with him. Somewhere in the exchange, the candle had been blown out, leaving the room in complete darkness. Groping at his chest, the priest could feel where the creature had slashed him. Several tear marks, like that of claws, had been left in his nightgown. In the cold church, it felt as though his blood was burning.

Oswald tried to clamber to his feet, sweat pouring from his brow. Escape was the only thing on his mind. Without warning, he was tumbling back to the ground. Crashing down, his jaw was slammed into the stone tile. Blood began to fill his mouth. Dazed, the priest came to a seat, swaying like a tree caught in a thunderstorm. At first, he wondered what had brought him so low. Then the pain began to course through his body. As his brain caught up to the agony, he doubled over, spitting blood as he cried out. In desperation, he glanced down at the source of his misery and nearly vomited. Where once his foot had stood now remained his leg, torn asunder and leaking blood. There was even a length of bone sticking out.

Now without the use of his leg, Oswald began to drag himself across the floor. He used the pews almost like a ladder, tugging himself forward in his pursuit of freedom. In an ironic twist, his wounded chest made the task easier. There was now less friction and he could feel himself sliding on the slick surface. Egress was close at hand, it seemed. And as his eyes finally adjusted to the dark, it became even closer. His rosary, which had been flung aside when he had first been struck, laid only an arm’s length away. In a final act of desperation, Oswald hurled his body forward, scraping his stump against the floor. But the pain didn’t matter. He had reached his liberation.

Clutching the rosary in his fist, he thrusted it towards the shadowy creature, calling out, “Begone fowl creature! Thou art a demon that has invaded God’s House! Leave at once or face His righteous fury!”

The figure paused in its step. Despite being enveloped darkness, the creature seemed to still have a distinct outline, as if they were somehow darker. They titled their head, still staring at the priest, whose hand began to tremble.

“God’s house, you say?” the creature said, verging on an animalistic growl, “Surely you jest. When I entered, I felt no divine presence. It seems as if he has abandoned this place, leaving it as an empty mass of stone. Much like a tomb, one could say.”

The room was suddenly awash with light. Outside, the moon had finally revealed itself from behind its veil. Its silvery surface shined full that night. Standing in the moon rays, the creature was at last revealed to Father Oswald. He stood as a man would, basking in the clarifying light. He talked as a man would. He even smiled as a man would. But the aura surrounding him was anything but human. And the smile he now wore… it was enough to finally shatter Oswald. For though it looked demonic, it also resonated with familiarity, as if he should know who was standing in front of him. But that was impossible. How would he know a demon?

“There is something that you papists also preach,” the creature, said, resuming his stalking march, “That the Christ resides in the heart of man. I wish to see if that claim is true.”

Flooded with fear, Oswald in his maddened state tried to rise once more. The pain ripping through his body sent him collapsing to the floor. Once more, he tried crawling away, but he soon found himself at the foot of the altar. Glancing up, he found himself face to face with a wooden carving of the crucifix. A saddened Jesus stared at the priest. Tears began streaming down Oswald’s face, but he made no attempt to clean them. There was no reason to.

The creature was upon him. At first, it was simply a hard pressure placed on his chest. Piercing pain soon followed. His breathing became shallower and shallower. His vision began to blur. He did not look this time. Instead, he felt the creature tear its hand from his chest. He felt empty. The last thing the priest saw was the creature standing over him, grasping his stolen, seeping life.

“So that too was a lie you ministered?” the creature asked the corpse, “Truly, you were nothing more than a sniveling lump of meat.” He crushed the heart. Blood splattered, covering both himself and the floor. Lifting his hand to the heavens above, the creature cried out, “Can you hear me? Have you witnessed me and my act of judgement? I have done it for you! For it is your Requiem!”


End file.
